As they look down upon the land
For which their lives were shed,
What do they think of the mess we’ve made:
Those brave soldiers: Irelands dead?
Greed and capitalism
Remains our national shame
Larkin and Connoly would be at home:
Our morals and their world were the same.
We hate protestands for being so,
And for it think we are Irishmen great
Nothing of the Tricolour
No gra for Tone, for freedom of faith.
A faith which many follow but dont practice
Use it as a banner, thats all,
Like the flag for which they dont care,
Just wave it, and Irish themselves call.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem